Let the Axe Do the Work
by rebelxxwaltz
Summary: Walt gives Vic some wood-chopping lessons. *Updated with a second chapter on the one year anniversary of publication, to please the birthday girl!* Walt and Vic go on a date. Unashamedly fluffy and not season 4 compliant. :D
1. Chapter 1

_This fluffy little short was speedily written this morning/afternoon as a birthday gift for a certain #walnut. You know who you are. Happy Birthday! ;D_

_x_

**Let the Axe Do the Work**

Vic hefted the axe awkwardly, frowning. It was heavier than it looked, and lifting it made her feel weak— which was something she absolutely hated. Wondering if this was sort of a sick metaphor for her entire life, she glared surreptitiously over at Walt. He was wielding his own axe like it was a toothpick, casually holding the handle in one large hand as he placed a chunk of wood on the tree stump he was using as a chopping block.

He seemed to sense her watching him, pausing in his work. "You don't have to do this, you know."

Releasing a sigh and adjusting the hem of her Flyers t-shirt, Vic tried to relax a bit. "Yeah I do. If I'm gonna keep living in this godforsaken rectangle of a state I should learn how to do some rustic shit. Besides, I promised I would help you."

"True. But I don't actually _need _help. Been doing this by myself for a long time."

There was something unsaid in that statement, and Vic wasn't sure exactly what it was. Maybe this was some sort of therapy for him and she was intruding? Was there something about the activity that made him think of Martha? No, that didn't seem right. Perhaps it was just one of Walt's solitary talk-even-less-than-usual activities and he didn't like having anyone around? If so, then why the hell had he invited her out here?

They'd been doing this dance lately. At least Vic thought that was what it was. And, Billy Idol aside, wouldn't she look stupid if it turned out she'd been dancing all by herself? It was this dance where one of them would invite the other along to some type of innocuous non-work activity, like when she asked Walt for help finding houseplants for her new place or he insisted that she join him and Cady for lunch at the Busy Bee even though it was her day off. She'd started thinking of these events as non-date dates, and she was beginning to wonder whether or not this might be one of them.

In response to his statement she shrugged, struggling to raise the head of the axe and resting the handle against her shoulder. "If you can be brave enough to hand a weapon like this to a recent divorcée, I'm sure I can manage to chop a few logs."

That earned her a chuckle. "Didn't think I was putting myself in exceptional danger, seeing as you carry a gun all the time anyway."

"Yeah, but firearms are so impersonal. Axes and knives are where it's at when it comes to crimes of passion."

Walt shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and Vic tried not to watch too intently as the muscles moved beneath the fabric of that blue t-shirt. He gave her an unreadable look, somewhere between amusement and… something else. "Suppose I should be flattered if you're thinking about committing crimes of passion against me."

_Against you? No. __**With**__ you? Hell fucking yes._

Schooling her features into an innocuous smile/eye-roll combo, Vic hoped he wouldn't notice her lack of an actual response. _Okay. Logs. Pay attention to logs. _

She watched what Walt was doing, which was probably more distracting than helpful. It was almost like she could see the power flowing through his frame with those practiced motions, the axe a natural extension of his body as he brought it down and split the short log into two even halves with targeted force. He made it look easy. Maybe it _was_ easy? Vic was no fainting flower like Lizzie Ambrose. She could _do_ this.

Copying Walt's movements, she positioned her own log on the spot he had shown her. She struggled with the axe, wobbling slightly as she tried to hold it above her head and draw it back the way Walt had done.

"Whoa there," he held one hand out, causing her to pause. If the look on his face was any indication, her wood-chopping form left something to be desired. "You won't hit the wider side of a school bus holdin' it like that."

Setting his own axe carefully aside, he walked over to her. Vic tried not to flinch at his sudden proximity or observe how his eyes looked extra blue in the sunlight. Also on her list of things not to notice were his muscular forearms, his slightly tousled hat-free hair, and the way she could actually feel the heat rolling off him as he came _even closer._

"Here."

He took the axe and stepped behind her, reaching around and holding it in front of them. Vic wasn't sure what he wanted her to do, so she did nothing. A few moments passed and her inaction was rewarded by the sensation of Walt's hand carefully grasping hers, cradling it, with his warm palm pressing against her skin and his fingers wrapping around her own. He placed her hand way further toward the bottom of the axe handle than she'd been holding it, and his hand lingered for longer than expected.

"Should've bought you some gloves, you'll get blisters like this."

She resisted the urge to lean back against him, slightly dizzy from the thoughtful rumble of his voice so close to her ear.

"You aren't wearing any," she countered.

Walt reached for her other hand, placing it near where he'd put the first. It did not escape Vic's notice that both of his arms were now circled around her as they held the axe together with a surprising lack of awkwardness. She inhaled sharply as he brushed a thumb over the top of her knuckles before removing one of his hands.

"Don't usually need 'em. My skin's not as delicate as yours."

He'd said it like it was a simple statement of fact, but that small touch communicated something else and had Vic's mind reeling around the words. The air between them had become charged, and she was actually glad he was behind her for the moment because she was sure if they were face to face her expression would betray absolutely everything that she felt for him. She needed to diffuse the situation before she did something irrational, like tackle him into the woodpile and kiss him senseless. Assuming she managed not to knock them both unconscious in the process…

"Okay, so what do I do?"

That seemed to do the trick, as Walt slipped into teacher mode and instructed her using woodsy catchphrases like 'let the axe do the work' and 'aim for the smallest spot you can see.' There was quite a bit more touching involved, and that was something she would complain about when hell froze over. It might not be the right time to address their obvious attraction or her emotions regarding Walt, but having him near her like this was a good feeling. They'd both had little enough of feeling good lately, so Vic figured she was entitled to enjoy it.

After a few assisted attempts, some more successful than others, Vic felt ready to try chopping a log without Walt's help. He stood to the side and watched her attentively, hands placed casually on his hips in a familiar pose. She remembered everything he'd said, hefting the axe upward and letting the weight of the blade carry itself down. She fixed her eyes on a small imperfection in the wood, the same way she would focus on a target at the gun range. To her great surprise, the axe came down exactly where she wanted it to and made a satisfying 'thunk' as it split the log in two.

Vic was unreasonably excited by her achievement, punching the air and smiling like an idiot. She stopped in her tracks, smile fading just slightly as she looked over at Walt and noticed the unguarded expression on his face. Tenderness, pride, and maybe even longing were present behind the barely-there grin he was sporting. Their gazes were locked, a haphazard stack of wood and a chasm of unanswered questions between them.

Unable to sustain the charged eye contact for much longer, Vic worked up the courage to call him out on it. "Walt? What is it?"

He shook his head slightly, like he was snapping out of a trance. "I, uhh… sorry. It's just nice to see you smiling."

The reply was slightly disappointing, and Vic knew that both of them were aware that this was more than that. Still, she wasn't going to push him. "Well, it's pretty nice to smile."

She moved to put another log on the chopping block, surprised when she saw his boots enter her line of vision and felt his fingers wrapping gently around her wrist to still her motions. What, had she managed to pick up a log the wrong way now? She was perfectly willing to let him show her how to do it right. _Get your mind out of the gutter, Moretti._

"Listen, Vic—"

"Yeah?"

They both stood upright, facing one another. Walt rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I was wondering if you might wanna… have dinner with me sometime."

Vic tilted her head, slightly confused. "Walt, we eat dinner together every other day. Lunch most days. Sometimes breakfast, too." She hadn't meant for the part about breakfast to come out sounding suggestive, but from the tinge of red coloring his cheeks it obviously had.

"I… yeah, I know that. I meant do you want to go out to dinner." He rocked back onto his heels and then forward again, maintaining eye contact. "Together. Not while we're at work."

She raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool as her heart hammered in her chest. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Yep."

"A _real_ one?"

His eyebrows scrunched, which was damn adorable. "What do you mean?"

Now probably wasn't the time to tell him that she secretly counted it as a date every time they saw each other outside of work. "Never mind."

Was it her imagination, or had they drifted closer to one another? Surely it was just wishful thinking. Vic knew she was staring at him, but it seemed slightly more permissible since he had just asked her out. Absently wondering what his stubbled cheek would feel like if she stroked it with her fingers, she failed to realize that she hadn't answered him yet.

Fidgeting slightly— if Walt Longmire was even physically capable of such an action— he made a back and forth gesture with his hand. "Umm. So?"

"Oh! Yeah—" Vic cleared her throat, composing herself after more or less getting caught ogling Walt right to his face. "Yes, I would like that."

He released the breath he had apparently been holding, and flashed a small smile that melted her insides. "Right. Good."

Nodding, she bit her lip and smiled back. They probably looked like a pair of dummies, standing there smiling at each other and blatantly ignoring the task of chopping firewood, but Vic didn't give a shit- she had a hot date to look forward to.

**xxxxx**

_Whee! That's that. Just a bit of fluff for the birthday girl. Love it? Hate it? Disappointed that I didn't manage to work in any jokes about Walt's 'wood' (like you weren't thinking it)? Let me know in a review! :D_


	2. Chapter 2

Hi, everyone! I ended up with an unanticipated day off from work, and used my gift of a free afternoon to add a second chapter to this story. The original was written exactly one year ago today, for 001Mercy's birthday. Guess what? It's her birthday again, and it seemed like this little tale could use a nice follow-up. Happy birthday, cutie pants! ;D

I've been working on chapter 9 of _Dreamcatcher _as well as the next fic in the _Arizona_ series, so look for those soon. Hope everyone enjoys this obviously non-season-4-compiiant fluff nugget, especially the birthday girl!

Some swearing and suggestive language ahead, but nothing too graphic.

* * *

_**Let the Axe Do the Work  
**__**Part II — One Week Later**_

_5:30pm_

"Hey," Walt said, smiling widely and rocking back onto his heels.

He stared ahead, eyes locked onto the ones across from him, face frozen in a cheerful rictus until the corners of his mouth began to hurt and he came to terms with how totally ridiculous he looked. _This is Vic. If you smile at her like that she's gonna think you've been medicating. _Clearing his throat, he neutralized his expression and threw his voice a few notches deeper.

"You look nice."

_You look nice? That's the best you can come up with?_

Walt deflated with a sigh, bracing one hand on the edge of his bathroom sink and using the other to swipe at the re-accumulating beads of condensation on the small mirror in front of him. If he started out like this, his first date with Vic was likely to end up an unmitigated disaster. He was beginning to wonder whether perhaps he should have bitten the slightly humiliating bullet and asked Henry for a bit of dating advice after all, but as a law enforcement professional and from his standpoint as a man in general he believed most opportunities for bullet-biting should be avoided at all costs.

Peering into the mirror at his shower-flushed skin, Walt adjusted the towel around his waist and wondered whether he should shave his several-days growth of stubble. Would it look like he was trying too hard? Trying too hard or, worse— expecting something? Which, maybe he was. But he didn't want Vic to _think_ that he was… had this stuff been so complicated back before he'd married Martha? It felt like it had been half a lifetime since he prepared for a date and he was kind of at a loss.

Shaking his head, he reached for the razor. If nothing else, he didn't want Vic to think he wasn't taking their date seriously. He would shave first, and deal with all the attendant questions later. As he performed the task he thought back on the weeks leading up to this point, where he'd attempted to spend an ever-increasing amount of time with his deputy outside of work. He'd sort of thought of the encounters as dates inside his own mind, but the subtle ambiguity of the situations allowed him to fly under the radar until he worked up the nerve to ask Vic out properly.

It had been all he could manage that day when Vic had insisted on helping him split firewood, not to spin her in his arms and steal the kiss he'd been starving for instead of showing her how to hold the axe. Splashing water on his face, Walt tried not to think about how much 'showing her how to hold the axe' sounded like a euphemism for… something else. The fact that he'd even thought it seemed to indicate that Vic's charged way of thinking had been rubbing off on him. Which caused him to formulate a different visual of Vic 'rubbing off on him'.

_Get your mind out of the gutter, Longmire. _Walt adjusted his towel again and wandered into the bedroom to get dressed. A little bit of nerves were good, right? Completely normal. He pushed aside the thoughts of everything that could go wrong, and focused on the immediate task at hand.

* * *

_7pm_

"You look nice."

_Fuck, why do people say this shit? It was like saying the sky was blue or water was wet or any of a thousand other pointless unoriginal observations. _

Walt did look nice, though. So she'd said it anyway, even though he barely looked different from normal. He appeared to have shaved and changed his shirt, and there was a manly sort of clean smell drifting from his direction. His standard Walt-issue attire helped to pop the balloon of terror bouncing around in Vic's stomach, and his slightly stunned expression made her feel a bit more at ease.

"Thanks— you too." He fidgeted a bit, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and flexing the fingers of the other. His lips moved, eyes intent on hers as if he was working up to something, but he seemed to relent. "Ready?"

She nodded. _As I'll ever be…_

They'd decided to have dinner in Sheridan instead of choosing one of Durant's own fine establishments, agreeing with a surprising lack of awkwardness that a change of scenery and an escape from the curious eyes of familiar townspeople would put them both more at ease. Vic wasn't sure how easy she felt now, walking across the paved parking lot and feeling the warmth of Walt's arm beside her own.

The weather had been cool but not cold by Wyoming standards, so she'd paired a casual dress with high heeled boots and one of her lesser-worn leather jackets. She hadn't wanted to look like she was trying too hard, or dress herself up to the point where Walt would think her expectations were far out of line with reality. Which wasn't to say she hadn't worn some damn sexy lacy underwear beneath her clothes just in case…

Being taller was sort of nice. Vic was accustomed to being at eye-level with Walt's sturdy bicep, but the extra three inches provided by her shoes at least raised her face up above his shoulder. She stuffed down the thrill that rose up at the idea of how much easier it would be to reach his tempting mouth from this height, biting her lip and trying not to blush as Walt held the door open for her. It was totally normal for him to do that, so why did it feel… different?

She jumped slightly, startled. Oh. _That_ felt different, too. It wasn't unusual for Walt to place his his hand at the small of her back to usher her through a doorway, but the small of her back was resting three inches higher than it ordinarily did and so his big, warm hand landed a bit lower than would be considered proper. His palm covered her tailbone, fingers splayed at the curve of her ass, and Vic couldn't contain the small noise that erupted from her throat at the decadent sensation of him touching her there— no matter how accidental.

Walt seemed to misinterpret the sound she made as alarm, and immediately noticed his error. He removed his hand, but it hovered in the air near the scene of the 'crime.' "Oh. Sorry, uhm—"

They stared at each other, his eyes a wilder blue above slightly flushed cheeks. The trance was broken by a throat clearing noise behind them as a short and stocky old-timer brought attention to their blockage of the entryway.

"Sorry," Walt repeated. "I didn't—"

"Walt, it's fine." Vic laid a hand on his arm, sliding her fingers around to loosely clutch at the crook of his elbow.

His voice was gruff, oddly tender. "Okay."

She allowed a private smile, squeezing his arm as the hostess led them to a small table in the back corner of the dining room.

* * *

_8:30pm_

Dinner had been going well enough since the mishap where he'd put his hand on her ass. The fact that she hadn't seemed to mind was a buoy for his spirits, almost to the point where he allowed himself to enjoy the memory of the firm softness beneath the thin material of Vic's dress. Or maybe three quarters of a beer had taken the edge off.

They'd managed some comfortably light non work-related conversation, and she'd even laughed at a joke he'd made. They were each taking their time over the drinks, longtime habit of cops slightly further away from their turf than usual who worry about making it back for an emergency. He'd grinned at her teasing as he dug into a starter salad, assuring her that he had in fact seen and even eaten more than one vegetable in his life.

She looked so beautiful in the dim, candle-enhanced lighting, hair loosely curled and minimal makeup. Walt had been entirely flabbergasted at the incongruity of Vic telling him _he_ looked nice, especially after his manic rehearsals in the mirror earlier in the evening. It was a heady sensation, the concept of this gorgeous young woman being attracted to _him_, and the thoughts rolling through his mind as her pink lips sipped from the wine glass ranged from the romantic to the erotic and everywhere in between.

There were a lot of things Walt found himself second-guessing. He still wasn't sure if the two of them getting involved was a smart idea, but somewhere in the past months since saying goodbye to his wife and achieving justice for her murder Walt had decided that he still had a life to live. Vic had been right when she'd gently admonished him so long ago— Martha would have wanted him to be happy, and he'd finally admitted to himself how much he wanted _this_.

Once they'd examined the menu, his worries skirted around to more trivial matters. When Vic decided to order cedar plank salmon in a restaurant dedicated to the careful and meticulous preparation of beef, he'd worried that he should have sought more of her input in selecting the venue for their date. She assured him that she liked steaks; as well as chops and ribs and every other type of animal protein that may have been on offer, but something called 'Yelp reviews' had encouraged her to choose this particular salmon dish. With a raised eyebrow she'd promised to steal a bite of his hand cut ribeye as a means of proof.

Walt hoped that wasn't all Vic wanted to nibble on, but he wisely kept that thought to himself.

The main courses arrived in good order, and somehow the sharing of food back and forth which commenced seemed to Walt like an oddly sensual experience. In spite of the fact that he was a grown man and not a grade schooler, the act of eating off the same fork felt an awful lot like surreptitious kissing. Maybe it was just in how Vic looked at him with a knowing, soft hunger.

Carrying through with the sharing theme, they perused the dessert menu in consideration of choosing one to split. Vic was leaning forward, head supported by one hand as her elbow rested on the table. Walt kept his eyes on the menu and away from Vic's suddenly gaze-enticing cleavage, trying to concentrate on the ingredient list for 'Satin Pie.'

He was doing a good job until he felt a tickling sensation along his calf, which slowly solidified into an out-and-out caress as Vic dragged the toe of her boot up the inside of his jean-clad leg. His knee jerked in surprise, banging against the underside of the table and causing the water glass beside Vic's vacant placemat to jump alarmingly. Startled, Vic's arm swept sideways, and the half full glass of ice water splashed onto her chest and torso.

"Shit," she squeaked, jumping up from her chair as the empty receptacle tumbled to the floor.

Walt shot up beside her, brandishing his dry cloth napkin. "Damn it. Sorry, Vic…" He started patting at the wet fabric of her dress with the napkin as she removed her hand from the back of her chair.

Exhaling, Vic released a short laugh. "At least it's only water. Fucking cold, though!"

She tried to help him in his attempts to dry her off, but it only resulted in their fingers becoming tangled and bringing Walt's attention to the fact that— napkin or not— he was more or less running his hands over the curves of her breasts in the middle of a moderately crowded restaurant. Vic seemed to cotton onto the implications at right around the same time, but well apart from shrinking back in embarrassment she pressed into his touch, body curving through the already meager space between them. Walt felt her breath on the side of his neck, and every hair on his body stood on end.

"Wanna have dessert somewhere else?"

He peered down at her, pad of his thumb detecting the texture of lace beneath her saturated dress as his hand rested on her ribcage just below her left breast. "Yep."

Her lips teased his jaw, and he felt the feral edge of her smile. "Let's pay our bill and get the hell out of here."

* * *

_10:00pm_

It was raining cats and dogs by the time they got to Walt's cabin, a weather phenomenon that hadn't been in the forecast. Of course, neither had the violent squall of arousal raging through Vic's veins since Walt reached over and slipped his hand under the hem of her dress and most of the way up the inside of her thigh while they'd been idling at the last stop light on their way out of Sheridan. It was almost all highway from there, and though the speed limit on the stretch of 90 between Sheridan and Durant was less than 80mph, they were traveling in an official vehicle with time-sensitive cargo and could afford to bend a few rules.

Vic had found herself wishing Walt's antiquated Bronco featured even more old-school bench seating, so that she could glide even closer, feel more. Once they reached their destination and Walt cut the engine it no longer seemed to matter. Barely giving him time to unlatch his seat belt, she climbed across the center console and into Walt's lap, straddling him.

The move was met with compliant enthusiasm, one of Walt's hands shooting to the curve of Vic's waist to steady her while the other latched onto her wrist and pulled her into him. Both of Vic's hands framed Walt's face as she tilted in and pressed her lips onto his, groaning in what could only be described as relief as their mouths opened and danced and sealed with tantalizing wet heat. Walt pushed upward with the strong trunk of his body, sucking on her bottom lip as the steering wheel dug into the small of her back.

His hands began to wander, one finding its way to the smooth bare skin of her leg again. Their kiss broke, followed by a couple short encores, chests heaving as they spiraled down into a sparkling abyss of eye contact.

"We should go inside," Walt urged, lips grazing her neck as he breathed her in. "Your dress is still wet."

She wriggled against the hard protrusion encased by his jeans. "My dress isn't the only thing."

"Oh fuck," he breathed uncharacteristically, bucking in response to her motions and claiming her mouth for another long series of heated exploratory kisses.

The rain pounded against the windshield as she pressed her hands into the material of his shirt and slid them down to fumble with his belt buckle. As ready as she was, Vic decided there might be some sense to Walt's suggestion.

"You're probably right. If we do this here I'll never be able to ride in this junk heap again without thinking about fucking you."

His grin was almost boyish, fingers squeezing and relaxing on either side of her hips. "What is it the kids say these days? First world problems?"

"Yeah, yeah." She leaned in and scraped her teeth over his earlobe, whispering, "Don't keep me waiting."

* * *

_12:00am_

Walt drifted out of a light doze to find his arm slightly numb and a wisp of blonde hair tickling his cheek as Vic's head rested near the crook of his neck. He didn't mind, not one bit. His entire body was delightfully relaxed, brain still flirting with euphoria after the gratuitous release of endorphins he'd experienced over the past couple hours. Vic was here in his arms. Or more accurately her limbs were wrapped around him, naked, in his thoroughly disheveled bed.

This wasn't what first dates had been like back in his youth. In point of fact he'd probably never had a date of any number that ended up like this. There was something so right about it though, so… them. It had certainly been a long time in coming— and wouldn't Vic find a way to make a dirty joke about _that?_— which probably also factored in.

He thought she was asleep until he felt one of her legs shift and bend upward between both of his own. Looking down, he caught the spark in her eye as she placed a kiss to his shoulder. He smiled, reaching over to brush his thumb along the line of her delicate collarbone. Neither of them said a word, because they didn't need to.

In the end he was glad he had followed his own advice, so similar to what he'd told Vic just a week ago out by the wood pile.

_Let the axe do the work. _

Walt had stopped worrying about his stance, ceased the struggle against the tools he'd been given. He'd focused on what was important, placed his faith in both of them exactly where it belonged, and just like that everything had fallen into place.

* * *

That's it! I wonder if I'll feel compelled to add another chapter when my #walnut sis has her birthday next year? Only time will tell! There were some special easter eggs in this story for the birthday girl, including the venue used for Walt and Vic's date. Because everyone deserves a trip to the 'meat palace' on their special day! ;D

Hope everyone liked this lighthearted romp. Let me know if you did!


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